What She Saw
by Mally O'Jack
Summary: Set during and after the events of S2 episode Threshold. A vignette from B'Elanna's point of view.


I loved Threshold from a character point of view – we see Paris and Torres start to interact a bit more and even enjoy each other's company. When it comes to women, I think Paris is an open book, but B'Elanna – there's a lot of stuff going on that she keeps hidden. She's obviously beginning to trust Paris more in this season – remember how she confides in him in the episode 'Lifesigns'? I guess I wanted to explore her character a bit more, particularly in reference to her relationship with Paris at this stage.

As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments.

What she saw 

by Mally O'Jack

We wear the mask that grins and lies,  
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes...

_- We Wear the Mask_ by Paul Laurence Dunbar

I hide myself behind myself and then I try to find myself

- Old children's rhyme

_Yo lo vi_. I saw it. _Esto es lo verdadero_. This is the truth.

- Goya

* * *

He died screaming.

At least, that's what she assumed.

She'd rushed out of sickbay, practically sprinted down to the shuttle bay, forced herself to focus on the job the Doctor had given her, and all the while she saw him collapsing on the messhall floor, sheer terror in his eyes as he'd stared at her, whilst Neelix hovered over her shoulder and a growing crowd of people came to see what all the fuss was about.

"Neelix, tell them to back off," she'd said, never taking her eyes from his. And he kept looking at her, gasping, silently pleading, whilst they waited for the med team, whilst she patted his shoulder and murmured reassuring words.

The med team took too long to arrive, and when they finally did, the idiots hadn't brought a stretcher. "I'll help you carry him," she'd said, unable to sit helplessly any longer.

He'd been growing more and more distressed, and as they set him down on the biobed he grasped at his tunic collar as if that could ease his breathing. Uncharacteristically for her, she'd placed her hand on his hot forehead, and that seemed to calm him a little. He'd even tried to smile.

And then he'd ceased to be aware of her as he started to suffocate, and she had to break contact and leave him. And then he'd looked for her beyond the forcefield, reached out to her, his face creased in pain, and it was all happening so fast – and then that scream, dear gods that scream, that followed her down the corridor and into the shuttlebay where she'd worked flat out and where time had seemed to have no meaning and she'd commed the Doctor to tell him she couldn't find anything, no radiation levels, no unexplained anomalies, nothing that would affect him like that, and then the Doctor's flat, emotionless response, telling her that Paris was dead.

She had been too shocked to say anything more, and so she'd sat there in the shuttle, feeling strangely like she was in a dream. As if it were all happening to someone else somewhere very far away. All she could think of was that she couldn't see Harry. Not yet. Because he would ask her what had happened, and how he had died, and she wouldn't be able to lie.

As it was, Paris had got better, and after the rescue she hadn't seen him since. Until now.

The senior staff took their seats for the morning briefing. Paris sat down, smiling and nodding as if turning into a mutant and abducting the Captain was all perfectly normal behaviour. And it struck her suddenly, as she watched him closely, how much of his persona was an act.

Neelix interrupted then with a tray of coffee and cake to welcome back their missing crewmates. And she saw how Paris took the coffee cup offered, thanked Neelix profusely, and then surreptitiously moved it to one side when Neelix turned away. He caught her looking at him, and he blushed a little, smiled sheepishly, gave a barely imperceptible shrug of his shoulders. But it was enough for her. His acknowledgement that what had happened in the messhall before was real. And that she had seen it.

* * *

When she got to engineering, she found a message flashing on her console. It was an invitation to come down to Sandrine's after her shift for the three of them to celebrate breaking the threshold.

She arrived late. Paris was nursing a drink and watching the couples as they danced, whilst Harry was slouched in his chair. There was a half-empty bottle on the table.

"Sorry," she said, pulling up a chair, "I got held up in engineering. Some of those idiots don't know a hyperspanner from a duotronic probe."

Harry burst out laughing.

She glanced at Paris. "It wasn't that funny, Starfleet."

"They don't know a hypertronic probe," he said, still giggling, "from a duospanner. I mean, a tronicspanner from a duoprobe."

Her eyes narrowed. "What's his problem?"

Paris at least had the grace to look embarrassed. "I, uh, blew all my rations on replicating the good stuff, you know, to celebrate. And I didn't realise Harry had skipped lunch, so..." He gestured at the tipsy Ensign.

"He's always out of replicator rations," Harry said in a loud, conspiratorial whisper, leaning in close. "And I thought I was drinking synthehol." She got a whiff of his breath and drew back in disgust. "Turns out I wasn't." He hiccuped, and went off into a fit of giggles again.

Paris cleared his throat, affecting to ignore his friend. "Can I offer you a drink?"

"Sure."

Paris filled her glass with a practised hand. "Now careful, that's a lot stronger than it looks - "

She knocked it back with one smooth fluid motion. At his surprised smile, she said, "I'm half-Klingon, Tom. We can hold our drink pretty well."

"I'll remember that." He refilled her glass.

She leaned back a little and surveyed the bistro. No sign of the Gigolo, thank goodness.

"You know," she said, taking a sip of her drink, "I remember a time when you weren't so good at holding your drink yourself. You would've trashed this place and started a fight with the bartender and then gotten an earful from Chakotay the next day."

He laughed a little. "Well. That was the old Tom Paris. This is the new me."

She couldn't quite hide her incredulity. "It is," he protested.

"Well," she said, taking another sip, "I'll believe it when I see it."

A shadow passed over his face then, one she couldn't quite fathom, and then it was gone.

She looked over at Harry. The Ensign appeared to have fallen asleep.

"So," she said, swirling her drink in her glass..."What was it like? Dying, I mean?"

He shrugged. "The Doc had me so doped up on painkillers I can't honestly remember."

She smiled, mock-serious. "Did you see God?"

But he appeared to consider her question in earnest. "I'm not sure I believe in God."

Harry raised his head suddenly. "Paris doesn't believe in God. He believes in his father."

Paris stiffened, but Harry ploughed on, oblivious. "Face it, Tom," he said, placing an unsteady hand on Paris's shoulder, "When you sinned against Starfleet - " he paused, and looked confused "when you got cashiered out- expelled, whatever - you sinned against your father. Who practically _is_ Starfleet. And you've been trying to earn his forgiveness ever since." He gestured grandly to the table. "That's what breaking the threshold was all about. You thought it might get him to forgive you."

To his credit, Paris sat very still, letting his friend ramble, even though in the old days she'd seen him hit a man for less. A protective urge came over her, an absurd need to come to the pilot's rescue. "You're drunk, Harry."

"It's all right," Paris said lightly. "Everyone wants forgiveness for something, right?" His eyes flicked up towards her Klingon ridges. And, just for an instant, they were back in the Vidiian mines again, and she was weeping as she confessed things to him that she'd never told anyone before. They'd never spoken of it after. She'd assumed he didn't remember. Or didn't care.

Her breath caught, and before she even knew how to respond, Paris stood up. "Come on, Harry," he said, heaving his friend up. "Let's get you sober again."

B'Elanna stood up too. For a moment, she and Paris regarded each other, and she was surprised to find that she didn't want him to leave. And then Paris grinned. "You know," he said, slipping Harry's arm around his shoulders, "it's your fault our project failed."

She raised her eyebrows. "How is it my fault?"

"You're a woman."

"What's that got to do with - "

"In the olden days back on Earth, sailors thought it was bad luck to have a woman onboard ship. So really it's because of you that everything went wrong. You jinxed it."

She stared at him in disbelief. "Tom, this ship's c_aptain_ is a woman."

"Exactly. And on our first voyage we get flung halfway across the other side of the galaxy. Sounds like bad luck to me."

"You are such a pig."

"Remind me never to fly in a shuttlecraft with you."

Harry staggered then, and Paris with him. "Help me get him back to his quarters, would you?"

"Oh, it looks like you have everything under control." She picked up the bottle.

"Hey - "

"Cheers." She walked out, savouring Paris's indignant expression. She heard Harry say "Does she know how much that cost?"

Only when she was outside the holodeck did she allow herself a secret smile, one that had absolutely nothing to do with the bottle in her hand.

_Finis_


End file.
